


Snippets from a Story I will Never Write

by a_fangirl_studies



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:43:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_fangirl_studies/pseuds/a_fangirl_studies
Summary: Title says it all pretty much





	Snippets from a Story I will Never Write

“I get it now,” Bilbo said suddenly, “The dragon is a metaphor for greed and power. We need to ‘defeat’ it by being humble when we get the treasure,”  
“Bilbo,” Thorin said, clearly exasperated, “For the last time. It’s a real dragon, and it has my gold,”  
Bilbo frowned, but Thala just rolled her eyes, slowing her pony so that she was riding alongside the hobbit. “You're really trying to get out of the whole burglary ordeal, aren't you?”  
“No!” Bilbo insisted, looking aghast. But his expression betrayed a certain unwillingness, and she thought she heard him mutter, “Well… a little,” as he looked pointedly away.  
“Don’t worry,” she assured him, “I’ll be right there with you,”  
He nodded, although didn’t seem altogether convinced as she dropped back further so that she was beside Fíli. Her cousin seemed bored, flipping one of his knives between his fingers as they tracked the rugged path towards the distant line of Mirkwood. A gift, Thala thought, to be so calm in the face of growing evil. Or perhaps he was just stupid. It was difficult to tell with Fíli.  
“How’s Bilbo?”  
She shook her head, shooting a wary glance at their burglar. “He’s antsy,” Thala said honestly, “We all are,”  
“You’d think that now that we know there are orcs on our tail, we’d be less worried about the dragon,” Kíli piped up, his voice muffled by a mouthful of food, “Who knows? We might die before we get there!”  
“Yes thank you, Kíli, very helpful,”

\---

“Fili and Kíli…” she breathed, “Where are…”  
But her question was answered. Azog emerged from the fog, dragging Fíli behind him with one arm. The blonde dwarf was still alive, struggling against his captor, but he was held fast and surrounded by at least a dozen other Orcs who had emerged from the fog to join their master on the tower.  
Thala and Thorin rushed forwards, Bilbo and Dwalin only a few steps behind, but  
“This one dies first.” he roared, “Then the brother. Then the princess. Then you, Oakenshield. You will die last.”  
“No…” Thorin breathed, taking a step forward, shaking his head in disbelief, “Fíli…”  
Fíli gave one final struggle, held fast by Azog, as he looked down at them. He locked eyes with Thala for a moment, and with a jolt that she would feel for decades to come, she was brought back to their childhood in the Blue Mountains. Playing by the fires, running through the jagged rocks in pursuit of an elusive butterfly, teasing Kíli with stories of Balrogs in the caves. Then older, training together, fighting together. His way with knives, her playful jests as he struggled to keep up with her, the two of them ganging up on the younger Kíli to mock him for his archery. Older still, escorting convoys north, quiet conversations by the fireside while their human companions slept, keeping watch in the tops of trees, scouting in the White Mountains of Gondor. Cousins. Allies. Friends.  
“Run!”  
His cry turned to a scream as the silver blade pierced through the front of his chest. Even from this distance, Thala could see him writhe in pain for a moment before he went still, collapsing back against the blade. Dwalin and Bilbo had looked away in horror, and Thala could feel tears stinging at the corner of her eyes.  
Fíli…  
“Here ends your filthy bloodline!”  
Azog pushed Fíli free of the sword, sending his body tumbling from the tower, disappearing into the mist. Thala let out a choked sob, nearly falling to the ground as Azog turned and vanished into the fog.

\---

They sprinted down the stairs, down to where Thorin was lying on the snow. He wasn’t moving, and for a horrible second, Thala thought he was dead. But as they drew nearer, he coughed, gasping for air as he turned his head slightly to see them.  
“Bilbo… Thala…”  
They fell to their knees, one on either side of him as they took in his injuries. Orcrist lay a few feet away in a pool of black blood, and Azog’s still corpse lay a little further away, still resting on the icy river. Thorin too was covered in the Orc’s blood, but also his own, seeping from a jagged wound across his face, and more concerningly, from under his armour.  
“Don’t move,” Bilbo urged, taking in his injuries and instantly starting to bustle about, dabbing at wounds with feverish intensity, “Lie still,”  
But Thala had moved his armour aside, revealing the wicked wound plunged deep into his chest. Thick red blood, the same blood that ran through her veins, stained his skin and his clothes, spilling out onto the white snow, turning it red with the blood of Kings.  
_He’s dying._  
“Oh…” Bilbo put his hand over his mouth when he saw it, but continued to fuss, putting pressure on the wound for a moment, before returning his bloody hands to Thorin’s head. He was trying to pack snow behind the dwarf’s neck, maybe trying to help him sit up, or maybe just so he could be seen to be doing something.  
But Thala stopped him, reaching out a hand to the hobbit. “Bilbo…” she shook her head, meeting his desperate, tearful gaze, “Don’t…”  
“But Thorin-”  
“Is going to the halls of our fathers,” she said softly, looking back down at her father, “Let him go in peace. Do not do him the indignity of prolonging his suffering,”  
Thorin gave a weak smile, reaching up weakly to clasp her hand. “You always were wiser than I,” he murmured, his voice weak, and heavy with pain, “Thank you, my daughter,”  
She nodded, clasping his hand with both her own as he looked between her and Bilbo, struggling to get the words out. “I’m glad you’re both here,” he finally breathed, “I wish to pass from you in friendship,”  
“You’re not going anywhere, Thorin,” Bilbo insisted, “You’re going to live,”  
“I take back my words and my deeds at the gate,” Thorin continued, ignoring the hobbit’s protests, “You did only what a true heir and a true friend would have done,” he fixed them both with a pained and desperate gaze, “Forgive me,” he begged, “I was too blind to see,”  
Bilbo didn’t answer, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled for words. Thala too could barely speak, her throat raw, and tears stinging at her eyes. But she wiped them back, putting on a smile. “There is nothing to forgive,” she assured her father, “We did what was best for our people. Because of our actions, the line of Durin will thrive, and the dwarves of the Mountain will prosper into perpetuity,”  
Thorin nodded, appeased, as he dissolved into a fit of coughing. His mouth was turning red now, darkened by the blood he was struggling to hold back. But he kept talking, his voice growing lower and raspier, but still filled with the same determination that had inspired Thala, inspired them all, to join him on the quest to the Lonely Mountain.  
“I am so sorry,” he breathed, “So sorry that I have led the both of you to such peril,”  
Bilbo shook his head, finding his voice at last. “I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin, each and every one of them,” he assured the dwarf, sniffing as he wiped a tear from his face, “It is far more than any Baggins deserves,”  
Thorin smiled, and turned his attention to Thala, fixing her with a warm gaze. “Farwell, Thala… best of daughters, and greatest of warriors,” he whispered, every syllable causing him pain, “Promise me… promise me you will not hide within the walls of the Lonely Mountain. Promise me you will not seek power or riches, but fellowship and wisdom. Promise me you will… you will help build a world that is worthy of you,”  
Thala let out an involuntary wail as her father’s eyes closed in pain, and his fingernails dug into her palm. “I promise,” she choked, gripping his hand tighter as he writhed in pain, “I swear on the blood of Durin,”  
He nodded faintly, turning to Bilbo, who had dissolved into a tearful, shaking mess. “Farewell, Master Burglar,” he breathed, barely audible now, “Go back to your books… and your armchair… plant your trees… watch them grow… “ he was struggling more now, his face paling as his blood flowed faster, “if more of us… valued food… and cheer… and song… above hoarded gold…” he continued, as determined as ever to finish what he had started, “It would be a merrier world,” his voice caught on the last word as his head dropped back into the snow. Thala couldn’t find the will to even move as her father locked eyes with her, saying so much with only a look, conveying his pride, his relief, his fear, his gratitude.  
Then his gaze slid past her, up into the sky. His grip on her hand relaxed, and Thorin Oakenshield’s last breath passed his lips. Bilbo, who’d been babbling aimlessly for a few moments now, let out a wail, cradling Thorin’s head in his hands.  
“Thorin…” he cried, sobbing openly now, “Hold on… hold on… the eagles…” he sniffed and snuffled, wiping at his nose and eyes, “The eagles… the eagles are coming… Thorin…”

\--

Gandalf paused, turning back to her. “There is something I didn’t tell you about the ring,” he said slowly, as if still unsure of himself, “It seeks wealth in the earth and in the waters of Middle-Earth,”  
“You... you actually did mention that,”  
“I'm not finished," he chided, a hint of irritability in his voice now, "I mean to add... that with some amount of skill, and practice, and no small modicum of luck… you may be able to reach out to those precious things. The rivers of the South run thick with the dust of the mines of Khazad-dûm… the earth of Eriador is rich with unmined wealth… in time you may be able to feel them all. And who knows? Maybe you may even have dominion over them, be able to shape the wealth of Middle-Earth to your will." Gandalf turned away, shaking his head, “Although, it is just a theory, built from the tales of Durin the Third,” he clapped her on the shoulder cheerily, as if he had done nothing more than suggesting an amicable tavern, “Let me know how you get on,”  
Thala laughed dryly, “I don’t even know where I’m going, Gandalf,”  
“I may be able to help with that,” Thranduil’s cool voice made them both turn, “My son, Legolas, seeks a man of the North,” he said quietly, “A boy of ten, he has been fostered in Rivendell by the half-elf, Elrond,”  
“I know of Elrond,” she said, nodding, “And I think I know the boy: Estel,”  
“That is what they call him,” Thranduil admitted, “His true name, you would have to discover for yourself. If that is the path you choose,”

\--

“Your Father must care about you a lot,” she said, hating how simple the words sounded on her tongue, “He trusts you; it is an honour to be so revered by your kin,”  
Legolas paused, hesitating for a moment. Then he sighed, shaking his head as he slung his bow onto his shoulder. “Our Father,”  
Thala looked sharply around at him, “Excuse me?”  
“Thranduil is _our_ Father. You and I are of the same bones; I am as much of him as you are,” he crossed to her, holding out his arm and, after a flicker of hesitation, Thala took it, letting him help her to her feet.

\--

“I have not visited this place in a long time,” Legolas said thoughtfully, looking 

“The darkness rolls back from Dol Guldur,” a clear, and all too familiar voice called, “Saruman seeks to drive Sauron from our lands, the dragon of the Erebor has been slain, the Defiler has been killed… and the children of Thranduil arrive in Imladris,”

“It’s good to see you, Lord Elrond,”

“It is I who is pleased to see you… Ringbearer,” Elrond said, offering a wry smile as he gestured to the jewelled band on her finger, “So Gandalf saw fit to give you Angya… an interesting choice,”  
Thala didn’t respond, just swung herself out of the saddle and held out Auross’ reins to one of the guards. “I didn’t realise we’d been travelling so slowly,” she said politely, straightening Kíli’s bow across her shoulders as her horse was led away, “News reaches Imladris more quickly than I imagined,”  
“Indeed it does,” Elrond replied, maybe a little evasively, “And not all of it good. I was sorry to hear of Thorin’s death, and the death of Fíli and Kíli,” he said, addressing part of that last note to Legolas, “Noble warriors all, Middle-Earth will miss them in the war against Sauron,”  
Thala nodded graciously as they fell into step behind the elf, walking through the autumn leaves through Rivendell. It seemed so long ago that they’d last been here, even though it was less than a year.  
The last time she’d walked these paths, her Father and cousins had still been alive.  
“So, you are sure of it,” Legolas asked, jolting her from her reverie, “Sauron has returned?”  
“He returned centuries ago,” Elrond admitted, “Under the guise of the Necromancer. The Lady Galadriel drove him from these lands, banishing him into the East, but I fear that within the walls of Mordor, his power will only grow. Without challenge, Middle Earth will fall within the next century,” he looked back at them for a moment, raising an eyebrow, “That is why you are here, is it not?”  
Legolas and Thala exchanged a confused glance, before the former spoke up, clarifying: “We seek the child Estel,”  
“I know,” Elrond said simply, glancing back at Thala, “You sensed his presence the last time you were here, which I did not anticipate. It concerns me that he is becoming so easily detectable,” he admitted, examining something on the back of his hand, “perhaps the power of the elves is waning faster than we think…”  
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry,” Thala said, sighing a little, “I’ve been told I’m just quite perceptive,” Legolas smiled at that, trying to hide a hint of a laugh, but Elrond didn’t seem to find her humour particularly interesting.  
Seeing they were getting no further clarification, Legolas pressed for an answer, “Who is Estel? What does he have to do with challenging Sauron?”  
“Well it’s quite simple really,” Elrond said coolly, and with a hint of irritation. As they reached the end of the hallway, he brushed aside a silk curtain, holding it so that Thala and Legolas could look into the courtyard below.  
It was Estel, a little taller now, but still recognisable as the shy child whom Thala had scared all those months ago. Except now, instead of huddling between bushes, he was wielding a wooden sword, slashing and striking at two armoured elves who danced lightly around him. As they watched, he ducked under one of their arms and, with a deft swipe of the sword, sent them crashing into each other. He gave a bright laugh, turning towards his observers and waving an arm in a cheery wave, content in his comfortable victory.  
“You’re training him?” Legolas asked, looking away from the child, and back to Elrond, “What for?”  
“For the war,” Elrond said simply, letting the curtain drop again, “There is no other fate for him, for he is Aragorn, the heir of Isildur,”

\--

“Welcome, welcome,” Bilbo was bustling around, taking their cloaks and Gandalf’s hat as Thala slipped her helmet off, letting it rest on a barrel by the door, “No Balin this time?” he asked, hanging Gandalf’s cloak.  
“No,” Thala shook her head, turning away from her helmet and back t to the dwarf, smiling, “He’s in the Misty Mountains, actually. The old dwarven kingdom of Khazad-dûm, we sent him to reclaim it,”  
“Oh wonderful,” Bilbo said cheerily, “Wonderful. I do hope I can visit him sometime,”

\--

sat on a fallen column, peeling and slicing an apple with her sword as she watched people bustle past. Osgiliath was a crowded city, but it was drab and dreary. Maybe in its day, the white walls had glistened brightly and cheerily, but now they were grimy and grey, a reflection of the sickness that had been spreading through Gondor ever since Denethor took the throne.  
Two figures moved through the crowd towards her, the familiar graceful stride of Legolas and swaggering gait of Aragorn almost immediately identifiable. She rolled her eyes as they approached, finishing off her apple and tossing the core away as they came to a stop in front of her.  
“You took your time,” she said, raising an eyebrow as she sheathed her sword, “I thought we had something to hunt? Didn’t realise we were going to take a leisurely stroll through the ruins of Osgiliath,”  
“Denethor recaptured Osgiliath more than a decade ago, Thala,” Aragorn sighed, sharing an amused glance with Legolas, “I think you can stop referring to them as ruins now,”  
Deigning not to answer, Thala pushed herself lazily to her feet, stretching her arms above her head with a pointed yawn.  
“So what are we hunting?”  
Silently, Aragorn passed her a torn scrap of paper, grimy and covered in dirt from being in his pocket for a year. She unfolded it, staring down at the rough pencil sketch it bore.  
“Gollum?” she looked around at Legolas to confirm, who nodded, “We’re going after Gollum?”  
“Gandalf thinks he may know the location of the one ring,” Legolas explained, “if that’s the case, we need to find him before Sauron does,”  
_So he still doesn’t know for sure._

\--

“Thala, take it, see if it’s cool,”  
“You realise this is man flesh?” she pointed out, “Not dwarf. That thing will still hurt me,”  
“It will hurt you less. _Take it_,”  
Sighing, she reached her hand into the fire, feeling the warm flames tingle across her skin. It felt like thorns were nipping at her skin as she fished out the ring from where it had slipped between two pieces of kindling, drawing her hand back before the pain could worsen. She let the golden band rest in her hand as Gandalf rose to his feet, stalking away from her and Frodo.  
“Frodo? What can you see?”  
She held the ring out to him, and, tapping it once to test it’s coolness, he took it from her, turning it over in his hands.  
“Nothing,” he said, still clearly confused, “There’s nothing.”  
Thala felt a thrill of relief.  
“Wait…”  
_You’ve got to be kidding me./___  
“There are markings,” she and Gandalf turned back to the hobbit, who was frowning at the ring, “It’s some form of elvish, I can’t read it,”  
“There are few who can,” Gandalf said grimly, “The languages is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here,”

_ _\---_ _

__ _“Aragorn,”_  
He gave a start, drawing his sword as he turned before he realised it was her. Looking a little irritated, he sheathed his sword, taking a step towards her. “I’ve asked you not to do that,”  
“And I’ve asked you to keep in contact with me,” she retorted, glancing around, “Where’s Legolas?”  
“He rode to the Mirkwood,” Aragorn sighed, “Word came from his father that they were under attack by Orcs,”  
Thala felt a twinge of worry for her brother, and her father, “Are they alright? I haven’t heard word,”  
“Then either Thranduil sought not to bother you, or he’s already dead,” Aragorn said simply. Thala gave a shrug: he had a fair point, “Where are you going now?”  
“Bree, same as you. I trust you know where to meet us?”  
“Us?”  
“I’m bringing some hobbits,”  
“Some…”  
“Two. Frodo and his gardener,”  
“Do hobbits usually bring gardeners on their adventures?”  
Thala shot him what she hoped was a withering look, “You wait and see, Aragorn. Samwise Gamgee will surprise us yet,” 

_ _\--_ _

__ _Merry shook his head, still unbelieving. “What are they?”_  
“Frodo has a magic ring forged by the Dark Lord Sauron,” Thala said flatly, “And we need to take it out of the Shire before he kills us,”  
“Well if you’re not going to tell the truth-” he failed under Thala’s look, “You’re serious,” she nodded silently, “Oh boy,”  
“Oh boy is right,” 

_ _\--_ _

__ _“Can you kill them?”_  
“That depends,” Thala mused, “Each one has their own prophecy surrounding their downfall. For the Witch-King, it is said that ‘no man can kill him’. They say of Fuinur and Herumor that ‘only the blood of Sauron can bring about their fall’, while Ren can be killed ‘neither by mortal blade, nor by mortal hands’. Ûvatha can only be killed by ‘a soldier who does not fight for their life’, Khamûl by ‘no being who has been born’, and Dwar by ‘no one man who walks this Earth’. There’s no particular narrative for Adûnaphel or Akhôrahil that I’m aware of, just that only ‘a being of true power’ can free them from their wraith states,”  
“So they’re immortal,” Sam said desolately, “Wonderful,”  
“What? No. There are obvious loopholes,” she started counting on her fingers, “No man can kill the Witch-King of Angmar, but what about dwarves, or elves, or a woman? Ren can’t be killed by mortal weapons held in mortal hands, so he can be killed by an elf, using elf-forged weapons. Dwar could be killed by something that flies, Khamul could be killed by a falling tree,” she gave a little shrug, reclining back into her chair, “There’s always wiggle room in these prophecies, you just have to find it,” 

_ _\--_ _

“And now,” Aragorn said gravely, “What do you do if one of us gets killed?”  
The two hobbits looked blank, and after giving them a decent half-minute to answer, Aragorn sighed irritably, turning to Thala.  
“Thala? Care to answer?”  
She took a bite of the loaf of bread, talking with her mouth full, “Avenge them,”  
“Thala no,”

\--

“The closer you are from danger, the farther you are from harm,”  
“Is that true?” Pippin asked curiously.  
“No,” Thala shrugged, “But sometimes you need to go close to danger to make people fear it. And sometimes people need to fear to act,”

\--

"Go for the legs," she advised, tossing Dwalin's knife to Merry, "They're hardly ever armoured,"  
The hobbit nodded solemnly, turning back around to face Boromir with renewed vigour.

__ _“What ails you?” her brother asked quietly, sitting down beside her, “And don’t say it’s only Gandalf’s passing. I know you well enough to see you’re troubled by something grander,”_  
Thala didn’t answer for a moment, just kept staring blankly into the East. After a long silence, she finally spoke, her voice quiet, and still raw from screaming.  
“I don’t know,” she admitted, still plucking at the grass as if it had personally insulted her, “But sometimes it seems like all our futures are just replicas of each other, facinorous imitations of new terrors… what hope do we have but to die in a mockery of honour, and beg whatever greets us when we wake that our people will never realise the true depths of our failure?” Thala shook her head, still looking out to the horizon, “I’m not ready to sit in the halls of my Fathers; I have no justification for the space I’ve filled.”  
Legolas had no response to that. He just sat beside her, watching the last rays of the dying sunlight filter through the golden trees. 

_ _\--_ _

__ _Legolas was riding the white horse, Arod, looking down at Gimli with amusement as the dwarf struggled into the saddle._  
“Need some help?”  
“No,” the dwarf insisted, falling to the ground for the third time, “I’m perfectly fine, thank you very much,”  
“This is not good news,” Aragorn warned, oblivious to Gimli’s struggles, “If Rohan has fallen, then Gondor-”  
“Never mind Gondor. We need to-” Boromir paused to tug off his helmet, ruffling a hand through his now-damp hair as he settled into Hildegesa’s saddle, “-to find the hobbits,” 

_ _\--_ _

__ _Boromir just shook his head, “Something disturbs the water,” he explained, “Something more sinister, I think than Hobbits,”_  
“Clearly you’ve never seen the Hobbiton gardening contest,” she gave a faint shudder, “Horrific,”  
“I'm serious, Thala,”  
“Right, sorry,” 


End file.
